Déjà Vu
by Antigone.Rose
Summary: Arthur has found that, in the dreaming business, things rarely happen just once.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Inception...sigh...**

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**EIGHT YEARS AGO **

_"This is stupid, Dom." Arthur informs the man beside him as they run fast, faster, through the labyrinth that one of them created. "You start building on the fly and the projections are going to notice."_

_"D'you have a better idea?" The then-Architect pants. Arthur thinks for a moment and then shakes his head, his hair flopping in his eyes. "Then shut up." Dom tells him._

_Arthur heeds the advice and continues to run beside his companion. During the year and half that they've worked together, they've been in worse scrapes than this, but Arthur is still annoyed. He likes order, details. To many unforeseen variables could leave them in situations like this one, where Dom, the Architect (and sometimes the Extractor), has to add onto his blueprints while running from angry projections. _

_"Where'd Mal get to?" Dom has ducked down a side street and is leaning up against the wall, breathing hard. "She doesn't know the layout as well as we do." _

_"Oh, I don't?" A French accent slides out of an alleyway leading into the street. Mal bounds around the corner, grinning. "Projections are closing in, Dom. What do you want to do?" _

_Arthur is a tiny bit annoyed that she neglected to ask him his opinion as well. Sure, he's a little (or a lot) younger than the two of them, but he knows what he's doing. Also, the pretty Frenchwoman's special affections for Dom got him a bit annoyed (jealous) at times. _

_"After you, my dear." He opens the section of wall behind him, revealing a twisting staircase. Mal gives him one of those radiant smiles of hers. _

_"And where does this go, exactly?" Arthur raises an eyebrow. He's less trusting than Mal when it comes to Dom's architecture. _

_"Wherever I want it to go." He follows Mal through the shattered wall. Arthur doesn't follow him. Dom pokes his head back out after a second. "Come on." _

_Arthur follows, shaking his head. He may only be twenty (almost twenty-one), but there are times when he feels like the only adult on his team. They hurry up the stairs in silence. Mal exits them first with Dom and Arthur close behind. They're in a bar, old and lit with cheap red lamps. Mal leads the way (like she usually does) over to the counter. _

_"Two martinis, please." She smiles at the bartender and Arthur's heart does a tiny little somersault. She's been in his mind so she probably knows about his little crush (intense adoration) on her. She's never given him any reason to show that she feels the same way. _

_"And a water for our underage friend." Dom adds teasingly. Arthur rolls his eyes and joins them at the bar. _

_"I'm twenty-one in three weeks." He mutters mutinously. "And it isn't even real alcohol." _

_"I'll give you a sip of mine, sweetie." Mal pinches his cheek and Arthur tries (and fails spectacularly) not to blush. _

_Dom laughs and accepts the drinks from the bartender. He raises his to Mal. "To Arthur." He proposes grandly. "Twenty for three more weeks." Mal laughs and clinks her glass against his. _

_"Go to hell." Arthur buries his head in his crossed arms, his hair flopping everywhere. _

_"You know," Mal touches him lightly on the shoulder and he looks up. "People might think you were older if you did something about you hair."_

_"What's wrong with my hair?" Arthur frowns and runs a hand through his overly long black hair. _

_"It's everywhere, Arthur." She brushes a few pieces out of his eyes and a shudder goes up his spine. "Style it or something." _

_"Also, you should dress better." Dom observes imperiously. Arthur looks down at his ratty jeans and sweatshirt and feels betrayed. He glares at the two of them, sitting together and sipping their martinis. _

_"Not to interrupt the cozy little lets-pick-on-Arthur session, but we do have a job to do." He snaps. _

_"Right." Dom sets the drink back down on the counter. "Let's get to it, then." They get up to go, but the bartender stops them. _

_"Hey!" He shouts. His voice is gravely and thick. "You gonna pay for those drinks?" _

_"Oh, I…" Dom begins to search his pockets and Arthur and Mal frantically follow his example, aware that the entire (rather full) bar is staring at them. "Well," Dom looks up. Their search has turned up fifty-eight cents, a loaded red die, and a top. "Seems that we don't have the funds for this." _

_"What now?" Mal bites her lip and looks over at Dom. _

_There's a moment of complete silence before Dom grabs her by the hand and says, "Quick, give me a kiss." _

_The bar and Arthur watch as Mal readily complies. Needless to say, it is a bit awkward. When they finally, finally, break apart and become two separate individuals again, the entire bar is still silent. _

_Arthur feels the need to point this out to his partners who are currently grinning at each other like complete idiots. "They're still looking at us!" He enunciates, practically shouting. _

_"Hmm." Dom tears his gaze away from Mal. "Well, we'd better get out of here, then." _

_Despite their mad dash for the door, the projections tear them apart before they are halfway across the bar. When they wake up, gasping and clutching for totems, Mal and Dom are still smiling and giving each other coy little glances. Arthur is exceedingly pissed off. _

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**PRESENT**

Eight years later, a much better dressed Arthur is sitting in a hotel lobby (inside his own mind) and watching as the passing projections give him heated glances. He shifts a little uncomfortably and watches as Cobb strides purposefully across the lobby towards to hotel bar. There is no joy in his face now. Dreaming, once his passion, the thing he breathed for, is now a punishment, a job. Pity clutches at Arthur before Ariadne, helpful as always, distracts him.

"Who or what is Mr. Charles?" She asks quietly, her eyes also fixed on Cobb as he moves closer to their mark.

"A gambit design to turn to the dreamer on his or her own subconscious." He speaks quietly, painfully aware that any one of the passing projections could hear him.

"And why don't you approve?" He knows that she can see the discomfort on his face. She's very, very good at reading people, paying attention to detail. It's one of the few (many) things that he's grown to admire about the young (and brilliant) Architect.

"Because it involves telling the dreamer that he's dreaming." He glances over at her. He expected her to look younger in the business suit, a child playing dress-up, but that is far from the case. She is professional, prepared and much older than he's ever seen her.

The suit, however, doesn't hide the anxiety in her voice. "I thought Cobb said never to do that."

He lets out a tiny humorless laugh. "So now you see how much time that Cobb spends doing things that he tells other people not to do."

She gives him a smile of amusement, but something else flickers in her eyes. She has such expressive eyes; he's noticed that about her. Her face remains impassive most of the time, but her eyes flicker and dance with a language all their own. He's tried to decipher it without much success.

He likes her. She's the first woman he's worked with since Mal…He steers his thoughts away from her as he usually does. He'd taken her death hard, even if he didn't show it like Cobb. Every time that she popped up unexpectedly during one of his jobs with Cobb, it was a bit like a slap to the face, forcing him to remember her.

There is nothing of Mal in Ariadne. Sensual, vibrant Mal was nothing like the young Architect beside him. He knows her, he knows that she lives more in her own mind that she does in reality. Impossible shapes and paradoxes and dreams within dreams came easy to Ariadne. He's seen the world from her eyes and found it absolutely glorious. Nothing was without a solution, not to her. People though, people are hard for her. People aren't like buildings. You can't navigate them, find their weaknesses and strengths and fix the problems. At least, you couldn't if you were Ariadne.

He watches her as she watches Cobb. He'll admit that he's wondered a little (a lot) about the relationship between the Architect and the Extractor. Cobb likes her, he knows that, and he knows that she craves Cobb's approval more than anyone else's. Could there be more between them than that, though? He thinks about it a little more and notices that the projections are staring at them with renewed viciousness.

"Why are they looking at us like that?" She's moved closer to him. He almost jumps at her hot breath against his cheek.

"Cobb's stunt is making the subconscious uneasy." He whispers right back and is oddly thrilled when he feels her shiver. He leans back a little. "It's making them look for the dreamer, for me."

He pauses for a split second and is overcome with a sense of déjà vu so strong that it makes him slightly queasy. He remembers the last time that he and Cobb were both in a dream with a hell of a lot on the line, a bar and a very, very pretty (beautiful) girl that they both liked more than they should have.

"Quick, give me a kiss." He shouldn't have said it. Ariadne was nothing like Mal. She was different (better). She was strong. She didn't need him to protect her. She could do it all on her own.

Her lips brush his gently, chastely. He responds gently, sweetly and he wants more, he wants so much more, but now isn't the time or the place so they both lean back and let reality (or is it a dream?) seep back in.

"They're still staring at us." She points out, her expression slightly bemused. She may be good at reading most people, strangers and the like, but she's always been complete rubbish at reading him. They've shared dreams for weeks now and he is nearly positive that she knows nothing about his little (or not so little) crush on her.

"It was worth a shot." He says and he can't stop the little smile from quirking his mouth (because, really, it was). "We'd better get out of here."

They head to the rooms, neither one really looking at the other. They're a different sort, he knows, than Mal and Cobb. They aren't the type of people who grin at each other like idiots just because they had a kiss that they might have (really) wanted. They'll keep their head in the mission, despite the sudden burst of adrenaline, the endorphin rush.

And, Arthur knows, that despite their shockingly similar start, they won't go the same way that Mal and Cobb did. They're a different sort. And, yes, he's decided that they are indeed a _they_ now. They'll have time, he hopes, to make something together once this dream is over.

"You were right." She tells him as they climb up the stairs to the fourth floor.

"About what?" He glances over at her and sees the smile dancing in her eyes.

"It was worth a shot."

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**A/N: What did ya think? Lemme know! I'm thinking about perhaps expanding this and adding another couple of oneshots paralleling the time when Arthur, Mal and Cobb worked together to the 'present'….yup yup yup. **

**(P.S...I may have...improvised the dialouge between Arthur and Ariadne a bit because my sister is borrowing my Inception DVD...) **

**Review and all that jazz… **


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Hey there…it's been a while. I just remember this story last night, so I decided that I had better get around to typing it up. Thanks to the snowpocalypse of 2011, I've had pleeenty of time to write. Anyway…_

_Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Inception. _

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_Mal has never been good with a gun. Dom has always been proficient and Arthur excellent, but Mal…she can't hit the broad side of a barn. And she's tried before. Arthur sees her lack of skill with a gun (or any type of weapon, really) as a problem of sorts. They've just failed their latest extraction (again) because she couldn't successfully shoot anything and now they've been forcibly escorted out of Albania (for the third time this year). _

_They all three sit together in a train car (headed for Paris) and look out the windows. Arthur looks from Mal to Dom and back again. They've been doing it again, he can tell. Their stupid nonverbal communication things where they look at each other over Arthur's head and make stupid lovey-dovey faces that they think he can't see. Extracting while being a third wheel was rather annoying. _

_"We should work on your marksmanship, Mal." Arthur breaks through their gooey-eyed glances, his voice edged with the steel of reality._

_"_Arthur_!" Dom looks at Arthur as if he's just proposed that they should all quit Extraction and join a traveling circus. _

_"What?" He is fairly annoyed at both of them for being so enthralled with each other. Did they realize that he had to share dreams with them? Being so close to that much love was like being second-hand-high. It wasn't as fun, but it still had all the unpleasant side effects (nausea, headache, sleeplessness…or maybe that's just him)._

_Dom opens his mouth to retaliate, but Mal cuts him of with a wave of her hand. "No, no, Dom." She practically purrs his name. Arthur fights the growing urge to roll his eyes. "Arthur's right."_

_"Thank you." He mutters, leaning back in the (rather uncomfortable) seat. "We can do some shooting practice when we get to Paris, okay?" _

_Dom is still frowning. "Fine." He glances over at Mal. "If that's alright with you, Mal." _

_She nods. "Of course." She reaches over to grab his hand. "As long as we can stop and see my father at some point." _

_"Sure." Dom lets go of her hand to put an arm around her shoulder and gathers her close to him. She smiles indulgently up at him as he kisses her hair. Across from them, Arthur lets out a huffy sigh. _

_Mal looks away from Dom to smirk at him. "We need to find you a girlfriend, Arthur." She giggles. He doesn't answer and she giggles again. "It won't be hard, sweetie. You dress so much better now."_

_Arthur mumbles "Shut up" but there isn't much feeling behind the words. It's true that he dresses better now than he used to. He's abandoned his beloved sweatshirts and jeans to the world of dress shirts and ties. At first, Mal and Dom had mocked him mercilessly, but after about six months they'd (_finally_) gotten tired of it and found new things to pick on. _

_It's also true that he hasn't had a date in…well, it had been a _long_ time. Not for a lack of trying, on Mal's part at least. Every time they visited a bar or a hotel or a restaurant she would inevitably find a very pretty girl for Arthur to talk to. And, it wasn't that he didn't like all these girls, but, compared to Mal…they seemed flat, lifeless, one-dimensional. So he would bid them goodnight and they would never see him again. _

_They couldn't understand what he did, who he was. His life was order and details and adding another person to his list of people to be responsible for would only make things harder. So, he remained single, the odd man out, the third wheel. He looked over a Mal and Cobb and bit back a sigh. He was fine with it, _really_, he was. He just got a bit lonely at times. _

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"That was bloody awful." Eames coughs as Arthur pulls him out of the river. They are both soaked to the sink, their hair plastered on their head like dark colored helmets. They're dreaming.

"We got what we needed, Eames." Arthur drags his (usually tidy) hair out of his eyes.

Eames snorts. "I wasn't talking to you, darling." He shakes his head like a dog, water flying everywhere. "I was talking to princess over there."

"Me?" Ariadne is sitting on the bank, wrapped in Arthur's suit jacket and shivering violently (he's worried about her). "What'd I do?"

Arthur rolls his eyes at Eames and goes to sit beside the young (and beautiful) Architect. They've got about fifteen minutes left before the Kick. "You did fine." He assures her. "You did great, actually. Not many people can build on the fly like that."

Eames plops down on her other side. "I'm not talking about her…architecture-ing." He takes off his suit jacket and begins to wring it out. "I'm talking about your shooting. Have you even held a gun before, darling?"

"Once." She mumbles and Arthur puts an arm around her shoulders. She's still shaking. They'd been attacked by sub-security and Ariadne had tried, and failed, to gun down several projections before she was caught. "I shot Mal."

Arthur represses a flinch at her words. It's been close to a year (eleven months, one week, four days) since the Fischer Job, but he knows that she still has nightmares (she still dreams). "You're fine." He tells her quietly, pushing her damp hair out of her face (his dreams have long since faded away).

"Yes." Eames sounds bored. "This is all lovely and touching, but if she wants to keep doing field work with us then she needs to learn how to shoot."

In the year since Fischer, Eames, Arthur and Ariadne have worked a few (four and a half) jobs with Eames and Arthur sharing the position of Extractor in addition to their Forgery and Point Man duties.

"I'll learn." She says, nodding at Eames. "Will you teach me, then?"

He snorts. "I'll leave that to your boyfriend, love. He's a better shot than me anyway."

Ariadne turns to Arthur, biting her lip like she does when she's nervous. He thinks it's adorable. "Can you show me?" He swears that he can hear a thrill of excitement in her voice. She's always so interested, so eager. He loves it (he loves her).

He smiles at her. "Soon as we get back to London." It's been their home base for this job. He figures that it's safe (relatively) to stay there for another week or two before they split up.

He hates that, the splitting up. It's part of the job, he knows that, but it doesn't make it any easier. Usually, Arthur would stay with Ariadne after a job. They'd hop cities, countries, continents, until they got a job offer or Eames contacted them with one. Those sorts of split-ups are fine, much as Arthur dislikes leaving the Forger to his own devices for too long (they're friends even if neither of them will say it). But, there are the occasional jobs that don't go well, like the botched extraction in Cairo (Eames's fault) three months ago. They had to split up, for their own safety. That meant that Arthur had to leave Ariadne at a strange airport in a country she's never been in with no idea when, or even if (he has to, he loves her), he'd see her again. She'd stare after him, trust and fear in her eyes (in his heart). He's always so sorry for leaving her like that. It's days like those that makes him want to quit the Extraction business for good, even if he never will (it's pure creation).

"So, two more weeks in London, then?" Eames looks excited. "Brilliant. I love a place with pretty girls and adequate housing."

Arthur lets out a sort-of unwilling laugh. "Seems that there are pretty girls wherever you go, Eames." He points out. The Forger is never without some sort of companion in between jobs. Arthur can understand. He knows what it's like to be a team's third wheel.

"Jealous?" He raises an eyebrow. "I could find you some…_company_ if you like, Mr. Stick-In-The-Mud."

Arthur rolls his eyes and pulls Ariadne closer to his side. She smells like the bottom of a river. He doesn't mind. "I'm perfectly happy with my current company, thanks." He puts his chin on top of her head. "It's nice to have my own pretty girl for a change."

Ariadne elbows him in the ribs. "That's enough out of you." Her voice is chiding, but her lips a twitching slightly. He wants to kiss her. "You're going to make poor Eames uncomfortable."

"I'm perfectly comfortable, love." The Forger mumbles. He's lying back on the bank, his suit jacket spread over him like a blanket. "You two are nothing compared to Mal and Cobb."

"Hmm." The Point Man lets out a sigh (he misses them). "True."

"You worked with Mal?" Ariadne looks over at him. "I didn't know that."

"Yep." The Forger doesn't look up. "Just the once, though. Cobb wouldn't let her work in Extraction after she got pregnant."

There's a moment of silence. Arthur thinks about his old team and, for the first time, his memories of them are shaded with the honey-yellow of nostalgia rather than just with pain and grief. Then, "I wish I would have met her." Ariadne's voice is quiet, thoughtful. Arthur can tell that she has thought about this before. "Seems everybody knew her expect for me. "

"I didn't know her all that well, princess." Eames shrugs without looking up. "It was short job, just a few weeks. And that was before I let myself get all friendly with my coworkers." He lets out a snort. "Look at you two, making me go all soft."

"The Kick will be here soon." Arthur observes distractedly. He's weirdly touched by Eames's last comment (he'd never tell him, though). "The we have to meet up with the client to get our payment."

"Okay." Ariadne yawns and snuggles a little closer to Arthur. He looks down at her, his feelings for her making his chest tight (he loves her). He's never felt so protective of another person before. Not Cobb, not even Mal…she's different (he loves her). He never thought that he could feel the way that he does about the tiny Architect by his side. He can't believe that there was a time when he didn't have her, right here by his side (always by his side). He loves her, he knows it, and there is no way he can ever go back. (He'd never want to go back.)

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_BANG! Arthur looks over at Mal with incredulity. Was this really the same woman that couldn't shoot four days ago? (It was). He observes the targets that she was aiming at. All of them are covered in kill shots. _

_Mal takes the guards of her ears and eyes to grin over at Arthur. "How am I doing?" She asks (her voice making it _very_ clear that she knows exactly how she's doing). _

_He smiles at her. "You're a natural." He informs her, hoping that it is what she wants to hear. _

_It is. "Oh, stop it, you." She pushes him in the chest teasingly. He laughs and pushes her back (very, very gently). "So…" She begins to reload the gun, pushing the slightly sweaty hair out of her (blue, oh so blue) eyes. "Did Dom tell you the news?"_

_"What news?" He's slightly distracted, watching her to make sure she loads the gun correctly (and because she's beautiful). _

_She puts the gun down and grins up at him. He waits for the news as she raises her left hand and wiggles her ring finger. A diamond that he's startled he didn't notice glitters (rather cruelly) there in the yellow light of the shooting range. _

_"Are…are you serious?" He puts the appropriate amount of delight in his voice, much as it might hurt him (it burns in his chest). "Oh, Mal…" He smiles at her, genuinely happy for her because he's never seen her this blissful before. "Congratulations."_

_She laughs and hugs him, her thin frame surprisingly strong. He hugs her back (his heart is breaking, slightly). They spin around for a second and he puts her back down. "So, when did he ask you?" He asks because he knows that he is supposed to. _

_"Last night." She hops up to sit on the table beside her partially loaded gun. Arthur leans against the wall facing her. "We were on the bridge, the one that leads to the college. And he asked me…" She almost can't go on, she is so excited. He smiles against the despair (because he wants her to be happy). "He said that he dreamed we'd grow old together." _

_"You will." Arthur assures. There is nothing in this universe, not even dreaming, that could separate Mal and Dom. He's certain about that. "I'm so happy for the both of you." _

_"I would ask you to be my maid of honor, you know." She tells him, still examining the sparkly diamond on her finger. "But Dom already called you as his best man." A jolt of warmth towards the other man burns in Arthur's chest (it makes him feel guilty). "And I don't think that you would like the dresses I have picked out." _

_He laughs and she joins in and they're laughing like idiots and they don't even know why (but really they do). No one that Arthur had ever met could make him laugh like this (free of everything but her). That's why Mal was so special to him, really. She's warmth and light and beauty and he cares for her so very much. She's a champagne buzz, making everything else blurry, but also a little brighter. _

_Eventually, the laughter fades into thin giggles and the occasional sigh. The room seems dark to Arthur without it (his world would be dark without her). "Come on." He descends back into seriousness (he regrets it). "Let's kill some more targets."_

_Mal shakes her head at him, but goes back to loading her gun. "Why must you always be so practical?" There's teasing in her voice. _

_"Someone has to be." He says with a long-suffering air. She rolls her eyes and he taps her shoulder. "Mal?"_

_"Hmmm?" She looks up from her gun. Their faces are inches apart all of the sudden (and where did all the air go?). "What is it Arthur?" Her breath is hot and smells like cinnamon. _

_A smile that doesn't reach his eyes tugs at the edges of his mouth. He swallows his feeling for her, knowing that they're entirely useless (they hurt on the way down). "Congratulations." The word slips from his mouth unbidden and he turns away, leaving her with the gun (he doesn't regret it). _

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"You're awful at this." Arthur observes dryly, watching as Ariadne fails to hit the target yet again (he thinks it's rather endearing). "Are you trying _not_ to hit the target? I should have been more clear about where you're supposed to be aiming, I guess."

She swings around, an inordinate amount of fury on her face. The ear guards are far too big on her and slip when she moves. He tries not to smile. She's funny when she's mad. "Shut up." Her voice is rather threatening (he loves it).

"Seriously, Ariadne." He detaches himself from the wall and walks over to her, ignoring the loaded gun in her hand. "It isn't all that hard."

She lets out a sound that sounds suspiciously like a growl (he raises an eyebrow). "I have a gun, Arthur." She waves it clumsily. "You'd better be nice to me."

"We're in a dream, darling." He mimics Eames's lazy tone and she fights against the smile that he can see tugging at her mouth. "The worst that can happen is waking up too soon. Also, I'm not too sure you could hit me anyway."

They _are_ in a dream (his dream, populated by her subconscious). He's manufactured a shooting range inside his mind so that he doesn't have to drag the Architect all over London looking for one. It's hastily built, lit with bare florescent bulbs. The light bounces harshly off the whitewashed concrete that makes up the walls and the floor and the few pieces of stainless steel furniture, a few tables and chairs. He fights a sigh, looking at the clean room (Ariadne should have built it, he isn't any sort of Architect). His mind is as much of a minimalist as he is.

Ariadne, still determinedly frowning, turns back to the blue target (the only splash of color in the bare room) and aims the gun meticulously. She shoots with a bang and…the bullet lodges itself firmly into the wall.

"Come on!" She turns away angrily, dropping to the gun to the floor and tearing off the ear guards. She stalks across the room to sit cross-legged on the stainless steel table in the corner. Her face is a mask of anger and frustration.

Arthur pauses to pick the gun she has been using up gingerly off the floor and set it on one of the tables. He looks over at the tiny figure perched on the table. She's wearing dark jeans and a black shirt. Her red scarf is a splash of blood against her pale throat (he shivers, remembering the terror in her eyes the first time she died in a dream).

"Nobody's fantastic on their first try, Ariadne." He observes quietly, watching her inconspicuously. Her face is turned away from him, shrouded by a curtain of dark hair. "I wasn't."

She sighs. "I bet you were better than me." Her voice is a low murmur, an undercurrent of bitterness coursing through it.

"Come on." He feels rather awkward. He isn't good at this, the talking about feelings bit. It hasn't come up much; Ariadne is very contained, rarely prone to emotional outbursts. He has always been awful at dealing with emotional women (other than Mal, of course, but that was different). "It's fine."

He moves over to sit on the sleek table beside her. He dangles his legs off the side and looks down at his impeccably polished shoes. Ariadne teases him about them sometimes. He pats her shoulder a bit awkwardly. "It isn't a big deal, really."

Her head snaps towards him and the fire in her eyes surprises him. He's never seen her like this before. "Yes it is!" She insists, slipping her legs off the table to dangle beside his. Hers don't touch the floor. "I don't want you to always have to be looking over your shoulder at me, making sure I'm okay."

"It wouldn't matter how well you could shoot." He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. "I would still do that."

"But you shouldn't have to!" She wriggles out of his grip and slips off the table, walking halfway across the empty range. She picks up a gun at random and aims for the target and shoots. Arthur flinches as the bang from the gun echoes around the range. She misses. "Damn it!"

He hurries over to her, concerned. He had never, ever seen anything like this from her before (she's balanced, even, controlled, closed). This is new (anger, fire, passion, fear). He stands over her awkwardly, not really knowing what to do.

"I'm sorry." Her voice is tired. "I know you hate this sort of thing."

"Hey." He turns her around so he can look at her. She won't meet his eyes. "What's wrong?"

She sighs and still won't look at him. "I just…I wanted to be good at this." She wraps her arms around her body protectively and her frown deepens. "I know that you…and Eames, you don't really need me in the dreams." She glances up at him for a moment before looking down at her shoes and muttering, "You shouldn't have to worry about me. I should be able to take care of myself."

"Ariadne." He murmurs, putting a hand under her chin and making her look up at him. Her eyes were dark with some emotion he couldn't decipher (annoyance, maybe). "I've told you a hundred times, I want to take care of you. I'd always make sure you were safe, whether you could shoot a gun or not. Eames would too, I know he would."

"Arthur," Her mouth twitches into an almost unwilling smile. "We need to talk about this fetish you have with damsels in distress."

He laughs and pulls her closer to him. She softens into his embrace as he tightens his grip around her. "The only damsel I have a fetish for is you." He breaths into her ear and she lets out a tiny laugh (he shivers). "You really weren't doing that bad." He lies after a moment (she stiffens in his arms).

She sighs and lets go of him, but she's smiling. "I know that you're lying." She informs him, raising an eyebrow.

He drags her back to him and kisses her soundly, her mouth fitting perfectly against his. His hands tangle in her (so long, so thick) hair and she lets out a little sigh against his lips. As quickly as he grabbed her, he lets go, a smile playing at his lips. "What were you saying?"

"Huh?" She looks like a sleepwalker with her eyes unfocused and her hair falling around her face in heavy waves.

He laughs and grabs her hand. "Come on, let's try that again."

"The kissing bit or the shooting?" She runs her thumb along the edge of his hand. "Cause I think you know which one I'd prefer right now."

He grins at her, letting go of her hand to put a hand on each side of her face. "I think I do."

She leans forward to brush his lips with hers gently. As his arms wrap around her waist, the dream fades into grays and black and then…it is gone, taking them along with it.

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_Yup. Hope you all survive the snowmagedon. Review and all that. :)_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: yes, i know it's overdue. sue me. actually, don't. that would be the perferable thing for you to do. _

_Disc.: Still no. _

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_Mal's getting married today. Arthur smiles at her and thinks that she's never looked more beautiful. She smiles back at him and her eyes (blue, oh so blue) twinkle in the fading daylight. "You shouldn't be here." She tells him, hitting him gently with the bouquet in her hand (a few petals stick to the front of his suit and he is oddly reluctant to brush them off). _

"_Dom wanted me to check on you." He brushes a loose strand of hair out of her eyes and she smiles gently. "We both know how you get around crowds." How she gets around crowds is nervous, and he understands it. He's never been one for public speaking. _

"_Psh." She waves a hand (he can see it shaking). "I am perfectly fine, Arthur. You best get back to your spot." Her lips smile, but her eyes don't. "It's my cue soon." _

"_You'll be fine." He assures her (himself). "You look beautiful." And she does. The white dress is princess-y, with an enormously puffy skirt and the sparkle of diamonds on the hems. Arthur wryly thinks to himself that the princess dress rather fits her and Dom's fairy tale ending. He knows that they will have a happily ever after (she's like his sleeping beauty when they dream). _

"_Thank you, Arthur." She kisses his cheek and he almost blushes (but he doesn't. He doesn't feel that way about her any more). "You'll find yourself a beautiful bride someday too." _

"_I'm sure." He agrees out loud, but he doesn't believe it. Who could compare to Mal? (nobody) What sort of woman could make him feel the way that she did? (just Mal. No one except for her). _

_She seems to hear the doubt in his voice. "Someday, Arthur, you'll forget all about me and all about Dom. You'll forget every woman that you ever thought you loved because you'll have _her_. And the way that you'll feel about her, what it feels like to be in love…I can't even tell you how fantastic it is. It's like flying." _

"_That sounds…" He can't go on because he already feels that way. That's the way he feels about her. She makes him feel like he's flying. He smiles at her (or he tries to) and turns to leave. "Good luck, Mal." _

"_She's out there, Arthur." She calls after him softly and there's an edge to her voice, one her hasn't heard in a long time. It's something like certainty. "You just haven't found her yet." _

_He doesn't answer, he just walks away. She's wrong. There was no girl out there for him. He's already found her. And now she was behind that curtain, wearing a wedding dress for someone else. Knowing how he felt, she was leaving him. She didn't love him. But he loved her, or at least he thought he did, and she was walking away from him. Or, for once, maybe he was walking away from her. _

* * *

"Ariadne?" She's asleep on his chest, curled up in one of his dress shirts and precious little else. Moonlight shines into the Paris apartment that they share when they aren't on a job. He runs a hand through her hair when she doesn't respond. "Ariadne…" He keeps his voice quiet (she's a light sleeper, a trademark of all shared-dream veterans).

"Hmmm?" She blinks open her dark eyes. Moonlight reflects off of them, silver light blooming in their depths. "Arthur? Is something wrong?" Her voice is quiet, anxiety controlled, but just below the surface.

"No, no." He brushes her hair away from her eyes. He hates the way that she's always so anxious, always so tense. He worries that he's the one that did it to her (so much running, so much worrying). "Everything's fine. I just…" He struggles to remember his reasons for waking her.

"It's fine." She smiles at him, resting her head on his collarbone. "You can always wake me up."

His breath catches in his throat and her wraps his arms around her tightly. It's been close to three years (two years, nine months, seventeen days) sine the Fischer job and he still sometimes thinks that he's dreaming (he rolls his die…6…6…6). He doesn't deserve her. He lives in constant fear that one day he will wake up and find her gone. Find that she has finally come to her senses and left him for some other man who is less complicated and less dangerous and not him (someone who could never love her like he does).

"I love you." He informs her. He doesn't give it to her like a compliment. It isn't. It is a fact, simple and accepted.

"I love you too." She says it like he does and, in that moment, they both understand each other so well that Arthur is surprised he can't read her mind. She kisses him gently, carefully and he smiles against her lips.

He breaks away from her, suddenly remembering the reason that he had woken her up. "You don't mind that we aren't…you know…married." The words come out awkwardly fast and he inwardly flinches. His usual eloquence was nowhere to be found when she was around. "You don't mind, right?"

"No." She pulls him a little closer and cuddles into his bare chest. "I don't mind."

"Okay." He quiets for a moment, but he's not sure if he believes her. He's good at reading people, but she's not people. She's Ariadne. "But what about all those invitations…"

"Arthur!" She raises herself up on her elbows. "Come on, I thought I already told you." She leans closer to him; he can see the depths of her chocolate eyes. "I don't care."

"Okay." He mutters, but the thoughts of the countless wedding invitations that Ariadne had received from her college friends, her high school friends and her cousins and sisters danced annoyingly around his mind. And really, why weren't they married? Half of their aliases were married. They lived like they were married, anyway. Sharing apartments (they had several, one in Paris, one in New York, one in Tokyo, one in London…), sharing money (he had been reluctant about that at first), sharing pretty much everything. Would a certificate and a ring change that?

She's nearly asleep when he speaks again. "But, really, most people might think…"

"Arthur." Her voice is annoyed. "Are we most people?"

"Well, no." He has to admit. "But…"

She cuts him off. "Do you think I care that my friends get sparkly dresses and big rings and perfect days and pretty boy grooms who can't shoot a gun?" She raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a half-smile that he recognized from his own face. "I get you."

"You say that like it's a good thing." He huffs, but he's smiling now and he loves her so, so much.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" She says and there's a laugh in her voice now. "It is."

He rolls his eyes and drags her on top of him, kissing her more intently. She returns his kiss with just as much passion and for a moment, he doesn't need a totem to know that this is real. He breaks his lips away from hers and manages to splutter "Wait!"

"Seriously!" Ariadne sits up, looking incredibly tiny in his overlarge shirt. "What is it now?"

He clutches for the suit jacket that lies rumpled at the end of their bed (he still shivers when he hears that phrase, _their bed_). Ariadne glares at him as he rifles through the pockets. He finally finds what he was looking for and shows it to her, feeling rather awkward. "So…" He flips the little box open. "I know that it's stupid and I know that you'd rather not, but…" He takes a deep breathe. "Ariadne, I love you. Will you marry me?"

She doesn't answer for a long time and for a moment he's worried that he's made a huge mistake. When she finally, finally, looks up, there are tears in her eyes. He's immediately on edge. He has never once seen her cry, not in the three years they've been together. "Are you…are you serious?" Her eyes are shining and her curses his inability to read her. Her can't tell what emotion is there.

"Well," He hesitates, "I was. But, I could be not serious, if you want." He tacks the end on hastily, feeling stupid. "We could just forget all of this ever happened. You know what, we should just think of it all as a dream, right? I mean, I don't dream anymore, but…"

She cuts off his ramble with a kiss. "Yes." She whispers when they break apart.

"Wait, what?" He feels as if he's just been clubbed over the head.

"I sad yes, you idiot." She wipes the tears out of her eyes hurriedly, as if she's annoyed by them. She presses her lips to his. "Of course I'll marry you."

"I though that…" He struggles to remember how to make words because she's kissing his neck and it is ever so distracting. "Ariadne…" Her name comes out like a moan.

"I love it when you say my name." She looks up at him grinning, her hair a mess and her lingering makeup smudged by tears. God, he loves her. "So…" She leans back. "Can I have my ring?"

"I thought you'd never ask." He slips the ring out of the little box and onto her slim finger. It fits perfectly. He kisses her hand carefully. "Do you like it?"

She nods, staring down at the (sizable) diamond that glitters on her left hand. "Arthur…" Her voice is curious. "When exactly did you get this ring, exactly? Because, no offense, but that proposal didn't seem…planned."

"Oh." He feels suddenly sheepish. He'd had the ring for rather a long time, actually. It had gotten quite comfortable in the pocket of his suit. "Well, I bought it a while ago…" He knows that she knows that he's avoiding the question. "Can't exactly remember the date…"

"Come on." She leans into him, still examining the rock on her finger. "Just tell me."

He sighs and realizes that there is no way he can win in this scenario. "Three months after the Fischer job." He mutters disdainfully.

"Wait…" She sits up straight as a poker and stares at him. "We weren't even _dating_ then."

"Uh, no." He agrees, avoiding her eyes. "We were not."

"And…" She twists the ring around on her finger. "You did buy this for me, didn't you?"

"That I did." He agrees again.

"So, what, you just assumed we'd end up together or something?" Her voice is wavering between indignant and amused.

"No, I didn't _assume_." He looks into her eyes for a small moment before looking away. "But, I hoped."

She's silent for a moment before she says, her voice soft. "I can't decide if that's cute or creepy." She laughs and he feels stupid until she kisses him. "Or maybe it's _sexy_." She kisses him again. "Oh, _yes_." She pushes him back into the white duvet. "Definitely sexy."

Her mouth is hot against his and he knows with absolute certainty that this is not a dream. Because, there is no way even his subconscious could be so creative. She's always been a bit of an artist.

* * *

_A/N: review!_


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